Love in the Disney Store

Recently my 9 year-old son's lacrosse coach was teasing him about having a girlfriend, to which Sean immediately protested that he does NOT! While many fathers joke about not being able to deal with their daughters dating (I am one such father), the idea of my son starting to develop crushes, eventually dating, falling in love, is all a bit much to wrap my head around. I was reminded of something that happened years ago when he was little. The following story took place on April 22, 2010 - Earth Day. I know that because I took my son, just over 3 at the time to the Disney Store where we turned in aluminum cans for a free hat.

Back then my son and I had a tradition. Once a month we’d drive up to Woodfield Mall for lunch at the Rainforest Cafe. After we ate, we of course went upstairs to the Disney Store to nose around. Sean would always make a beeline for the Cars section and tell me we needed to buy EVERYTHING!

After a few minutes I’d convince him that we couldn't buy everything “this time” and he’d accept that and move on, always to the two displays near the checkout counter. Every Disney store has them. Essentially two point-of-sale "junk" towers meant to trick us parents into spending another $3 - $5 bucks before we leave. They're full of balls, wind-up toys, key chains, etc.

One side geared toward little girls, housing mostly Princess merchandise. The other tower held the more traditionally boy-centric stuff. Sean would spend hours there, if he could. Taking out each little toy, pulling the cars back and letting them race across the store, oblivious to the many reasons he shouldn't.

One afternoon as I stood there leaning on my empty stroller (Sean could walk of course, but that was the problem – he had a tendency to wander off) I happened to look up and see a mom around my age also piloting an empty stroller. Actually in hers sat a pile of shopping bags. I looked over to the girls' toy tower, and there was this little Princess. Literally, a little brunette toddler dressed in a puffy turquoise dress and slippers. She was twirling absently around the store, smiling and singing to herself.

And it turned out I wasn't the only one who noticed. I glanced over at Sean, who moments before was on his knees engrossed in every kind of plastic Buzz Lightyear, Handy Manny, and Stitch he could find. Now he was on his feet, fingers in his mouth, grinning with wide-eyed wonder at this little girl.

A new music video began to play on the large screen at the back of the store. The song, I would learn was "When I Look At You" by Miley Cyrus (back before she officially assassinated her wholesome, Hannah Montana persona.)  

Go ahead, press play. You know you want to.

The little Princess began to dance circles around my son. His big brown eyes never fell away. I’d never seen him like this. The girl stopped in front of him as the music played and said "I'm Princess Ariel, and you're Prince Erik."

The mother and I looked up at each other and smiled. I don't know which of us had the glossiest set of eyes at that moment.

She danced around Sean again, and he just kind of swayed to the music a little. When he was little like that he was seldom afraid to dance if the mood hit him, but in that moment it was like he was discovering something new. He wasn't sure what it what it was, but he definitely seemed to like it. His smile made that apparent. Again she said, but this time directly to me, "I'm Princess Ariel and he's Prince Erik."

I found myself actually speechless. And to be honest, on the verge of getting emotional. It wouldn't do for a grown man to come to tears in the Disney Store.

Finally the song ended and the girl and her mother moved on, but I caught both kids stealing glances at each other as we made our way around the store. I wasn’t sure if they were just kids being kids, or if those two little ones had formed an spontaneous, innocent bond.

It was a strange moment where I felt like I should do something. But what do you do? Ask for a strange, married woman's number so your kids can have a play date . . . or we can set them up in 13 years? That’s not creepy at all, no matter how innocent the intentions.

The truth is there was nothing to do. It was just one of those moments – a beautiful moment of childhood innocence between two sweet souls. Few and far between, they are, but when we are given them we're meant to just step back and take it in.

For a few minutes, my son had the perfect relationship. The purest love there ever was or will be.

I vowed to remember that day, and when he's old enough, tell him about it, as I’m sure he doesn’t remember. I think it impacted me more than him. He'll probably tell me I'm crazy, but I hope he finds it. Not too soon, of course.

 

Divorce

Last night I happened across one of those rare social media posts that, as a parent, restore my faith in humanity and give me hope for the future. For whatever reason, I wanted to share it. Perhaps as a cautionary tale to any readers considering divorce.

No, it wasn’t some uplifting news story or an inspirational meme. It was a picture and post that included someone I know only casually. My family owns a DJ business and I used to regularly pick up shows in bars at night for extra money. While dealing with drunks and bad singers on karaoke night – particularly drunk bad singers – can be a test of one’s good graces, it did make for fun people watching.

At one such establishment I got to know the staff to some degree and found them all to be a fun, if not a little misguided bunch of kids. Part of the mystique of the job was being a regular fixture enough that they let you in to the private goings-on without you really becoming a part of it. I was like a silent observer, watching the weekly soap operas unravel.  One of the servers, a terribly cute, wild child of sorts started dating a guy that at the time I thought “I wouldn’t let my daughter (ironic since I didn’t have one yet) date a creep like that.” She soon ended up pregnant and they had a quick courthouse wedding. When I heard all this I thought “well that’s a mistake” but as I was just the weekly DJ and not an actual friend or any part of her life, I didn’t voice my opinion.

Didn’t take long until that mistake played itself out. They got divorced, and with the advent of social media I again quietly observed the drama now from the comfort of my newsfeed. My opinions of the guy did not improve. It was not an easy or friendly divorce, although I’m convinced those only happen in movies. He began pulling stunts like waiting until the day his child support was due and leaving a box of pennies (or some denomination of wrapped coins) on the doorstep.

She recently got remarried. As I said, I don’t know her well but was very happy for her as the guy seems like the real deal. Takes care of her and her daughter, as well as his own from a previous relationship. I’ve been happy to see their wedding photos appear in my Facebook feed. This week a new photo appeared. It shocked me. It was the young woman, her new husband, and her ex and another woman, all together with the little girl in the center. They were all smiling, and it was recent. Strangest of all, it had been posted by her ex, who is not on my friends list. He tagged her in a post titled something along the lines of “two years ago I never would have believed this picture would happen.”

He went on to confess of his (and her) douchbaggery throughout their attempts at being a family and the ensuing heartache of divorce that followed. He said how foolish he’d been, constantly fighting with her, thinking of horrible things to say to her, just because he was hurt and upset. Then he told of how meeting his new now-wife made him begin to see how stupid it all was. That they should have accepted they just weren’t meant to be together (as they have now that they’ve met their true soulmates) and they should have only focused on loving  their daughter and giving her the happiest life possible.

Upon reading his words, I actually felt guilty for my quiet judgement of this guy I didn’t know at all and had only seen casually in a bar (rarely where anyone’s finest hours are on display.) The level of mature introspection and mea culpa he was putting forward was refreshing and humbling. Even to a guy whose parents divorced 35 years ago. I wanted to reach out to him and say not to be too hard himself. That we’re all human, and any damage they may have unintentionally inflicted on their child would likely not be permanent. She was very young in the bad times and now she will have more memories of their detent, and hopefully shared happy times together as one big dysfunctional family.  

In a manuscript I once wrote but will likely never share, except among the few friends who have read it, I was very candid about my own parents’ divorce. There never was such a “moment of clarity.” I am no learned expert or psychologist, but in that book I wrote: 

“And as an aside to any parents out there considering divorce, consider this.  How you handle yourselves in those proceedings and for years after will profoundly affect your children.  Don’t kid yourselves.  Divorce will hurt your children.  Hurt them irreparably.  Hurt them permanently.  No matter what you do or say, nothing will change that.  But you can still decide if that hurt is a scrape, a bruise, or a complete @#$% massacre.”

I am optimistic that with this path they seem to be on, that little girl's scrape will soon heal as to almost be undetectable at all. Here's to a good man and a good dad.

Birthday Girl

Wednesday is our youngest child, Macy’s birthday. She’ll be four. We already had a party –her sister Maya is only 14 months older, to the day. I’m starting to feel guilty that we aren’t really doing anything additional. Although we’ve left most of the decorations up and I’m sure we’ll get a cake or something. The question will be, will she remember she already got her present from us? It’s amazing how quickly they can forget little things like me saying “if we give you your present now, that’s it. Are you okay with that?”

Guess what. She said she was. Of course she did. She’s 3. She knew it was her very own tablet. Of course she said yes.

Truth be told, it’s very likely we’ll have a few little things for her on Wednesday just so it feels like a birthday. I like giving my kids things. Crazy, I know. Sure, I worry about raising spoiled children who don’t appreciate hard work (which is a dumb phrase anyway - I don’t appreciate it -I just know I have to do it every day or we’ll lose the house) and the value of money.

Honestly, I don’t worry about Macy so much. She’s a very sweet, appreciative kid. Those other two . . . well, let’s keep talking about Macy.

If you’ve kept up with this blog thus far, it’s not hard to use simple math and a little deductive reasoning to determine that she was what they call “a surprise.”  One that floored my wife and me. We had such a hard time even having one, that when we were fortunate enough to have two, we said we were through.

As John Lennon said, life is what happens when you’re making other plans. One winter’s eve, we were watching television after the kids were in bed, and my wife casually mentioned she’d gotten dizzy at work and almost fell down. She said she’d made a doctor’s appointment just to be safe. I asked her at the time, “you don’t think you’re pregnant . . . do you?” I should mention that a month or so before, I’d gone in for a procedure to shutter the baby-making business for good.

So of course my wife answered “no, of course not!”

Turns out, yep, of course so! Apparently the doctor said with a chuckle “hey, let’s do a pregnancy test just to rule that out.” Nope. Problem solved. Cause found. Bun placed squarely in oven.  My wife says she cried for ten minutes when she got the news – not because she didn’t want another baby – just that, we were already exhausted. We didn’t start having them until our 30’s and now we were both nearly in our 40’s. We already felt too tired for the ones we had. She called me and it was as if she was speaking in a dead or alien language. I couldn’t comprehend the word pregnant.

After doing a few laps around my office building, I called her back and said everything would be fine. We’d figure it out. We’d make room for three. After all, I told her I loved having kids (which I did and do) and would be happy to have three, four, even five if I felt we were financially sound enough for it. We weren’t of course. We’re still not. But screw it, you find a way.

Macy’s arrival was a bit turbulent. They scheduled an induction. We checked-in at the hospital early and we were there all day, and into the night. Nothing was happening. She didn’t want to come out. Then things went south. Our doctor, Vernon, said the baby’s heart rate was dropping . . . and cue the chaos.

One nurse pushed me back and the rest began yanking chords and plugs out of the wall and in a matter of seconds, my wife, the bed, and all those electronics were gone. I was standing in an empty delivery room with just one machine making an insane, screeching beep.

In his book A Pirate Looks at Fifty, Jimmy Buffett wrote “remember that it can all go to hell in an instant.” In that moment, I got it. Every “what if” scenario races through your head. I tried to tell myself “they do this all the time.” That didn’t make it any less scary. Just as the fact women give birth every day doesn’t make it any less miraculous and amazing. In the moment, I was terrified. I couldn't imagine losing either or both of them.

At first they told me I couldn’t go. It was an emergency C section and I had to stay put. Then a minute later a nurse returned with some scrubs and said they would let me in with her, and to put them on. The scrubs were medium. You may not know this, but I’m a big boy. I can’t get my thigh in a medium. I tried to put the shirt on and looked like Chris Farley doing “fat guy in a little coat.”

Someone scurried off to get my size from the tent and awning company down the road. They finally brought me my plus-sized scrubs and we raced down the corridor. As I finally entered, our doctor was leaving and he congratulated me on a beautiful (they have to say that – the thing is covered in strawberry jelly and crazy glue-like material) baby girl and off he went. My wife was shivering and overwhelmed, but she was okay too.

While her entry into the world was full of surprise and terror, Macy was the greatest baby. Although she did not like me the first month of her life. For a few weeks I couldn’t pick her up, feed her, or anything of the kind, without her having a full DEFCON 4 meltdown. An act of Mother Nature brought us closer together – I’ll tell that story another time. Now she’s the sweetest child, and has a face befitting the angel that she is. Most of the time. She loves to help others, make people laugh, and give and share freely. She’s been the greatest “surprise” of both of our lives.

So I’m happy to spoil her with an extra gift this year!

Married Single Parent

I’m a single parent.

I mean, I’m married and all – 14 years in fact. What I meant to say is I’m a “married single-parent.”

My wife and I both work, and work completely opposite schedules. I work a 9 – 5’er, Monday through Friday in a typical corporate American office environment. I’m also a published author and working on expanding my oeuvre. No that doesn’t require surgery. Oh, and I host two podcasts and will happily accept the occasional public speaking gig. Why not? Like that song in Zootopia, I want to try everything. Eventually I'll get something right.

My wife is a self-employed hair stylist, and a successful one at that. However her days tend to start late-morning or early afternoon and run into the night. She’s lucky if she gets home when one of our three kids is still up.

That means we’re both on our own, and dreadfully outnumbered most of our lives. The little time we get together during the week is usually after 10 PM and I'm ready to crash, having been up by 6 while she's wired and ready to catch up. We try to communicate pertinent information throughout the day, although that is often made harder by the fact that she’s working with her hands and can’t pick up the phone for hours at a time. I on the other hand am a “pencil pusher” by day and leap at any excuse to avoid real work.

Just kidding.

No, I’m not.

Mommy blogs have taken the world by storm, and even I find myself turning to a few I’ve come to follow for ideas, tips, or just commiseration. Odds are there are dads out there like me, who work all day only to come home to work again for another 3 – 4 hours, getting kids fed, washed, and into bed. All the while trying not to snap at them for wanting you to play when you just want 5 minutes to veg out (knowing full well that’s never going to happen.)
We have a 9 year-old son, Sean, who has already charted his course from Notre Dame to the NHL – where he gets the athlete gene I’m not sure because it isn’t from me. He’s also good at math. Another reason I’d demand a DNA test if he didn’t look like me.
Then we have two little girls, Maya (5) and Macy (4). One of them was a cherubic surprise. The other, her older sister, is a brunette agent of chaos sent from another world to wreak havoc on mankind as punishment for global warming and the music of Justin Bieber. They are all three the loves of my life – and I have to remind myself of that all the time.

Fortunately, my kids tend to be really funny too. Yes, every parent thinks that. Either their kid is funny, or their kid is a genius, or worse, their kid is a comedic genius. Well I’m not claiming any of mine are the reincarnated George Carlin, but people do tend to tell me I should compile a list of my funny kid stories and write a book. Well, I’m already elbow deep in book writin’ so a blog will have to do, for now.

Welcome to my world. Keep your hands and feet in the vehicle and remain seated until the ride has come to a complete stop.

                                                     

For the love of . . . just eat a green bean!!!

How do parents get kids that eat healthy?

Notice I didn’t say “raise” or “get them to” eat healthy. I think if your kid loves spinach, broccoli, or even green beans after the age of 4, you hit the kid lotto. We tried. We fed all of our kids nothing but fruits and veggies when they were babies. We weren’t going to make the “same mistakes” our parents made of feeding us junk.

In fairness I was raised on junk because it was cheap. That was the early 80’s. We ate a lot of frozen fish sticks because I guess they were cheap. Mom would make a big pot of chili with little noodles in it and that would last us days. And there were nights she went to bed without dinner to make sure we ate enough. I also recall bricks of unmarked cheese. Sad thing is, the “we eat bad because it’s cheap” excuse is still true and the same reason so much of our country is out of shape and sick all the time. But I’m so not the guy to get off on that rant.

Our son used to love green beans. I mean hard! He would inhale them. Del Monte were his label of choice. Cooked or cold out of the can, didn’t matter. They were like Reese’s Pieces to him as a baby through age 2 or 3. Then something happened. Almost overnight, he just decided that was it. He’d fulfilled his green bean obligation to us. Now they’re repellent to the boy. He’s similar to Buddy the Elf now in that he only has a couple food groups, and one of them requires syrup. Otherwise it’s hot dogs (which we have more or less put the kibosh on because, come on), chicken nuggets, and pizza. That was it for years.

Recently he’s added cheeseburgers (but only plain – meat and cheese) and steak. Even steak was a battle. “It’s the same thing,” I’d explain, “just different, and may I add tastier formatting.” By the way, I apologize in advance to any vegetarians or vegans who happen upon this. I admire your resolve, but I’m a big hairy carnivore, as are my young.   

All three of my kids are picky eaters. I never realized how frustrating it is. We try not to give in but there are nights just to avoid arguments I find myself cooking (and by cooking, I mean microwaving or boiling water for) three different meals. Breakfast is the worst. The only thing they’ll agree on is bacon. Go figure. Many days the extensive breakfast buffet I will lay out looks like this:

Just feel the high fructose corn syrup seeping through you, let it envelop you!

I admit I’m not the best role model. I love junk food. I’ve committed to really working on it, for my weight but also to try to be more of a role model. Maybe I need one of those books like Jerry Seinfeld’s wife wrote (or stole, allegedly) about disguising healthy food as junk food. We did try giving the kids mashed cauliflower as mashed potatoes. Didn’t work. What can I say? I make smart kids.

Although I might make a better example if I didn’t make videos like this!

Tablet addicts - The struggle is real

Six years ago, Steve Jobs stood before a crowd of shareholders, and really the entire world and introduced the next “big thing" – the iPad. I was skeptical.

One of his big highlights was the ability to download books. As a writer, I’m still in love with the feel of paper and biding in my hands. I love folding over a paperback to hold in one hand, or shoving one in the pocket of my cargo shorts on vacation. In my 30-something brain, I saw eBooks as the end of the civilized world.

Admittedly now that I’ve had a couple books in the marketplace and sold a fair share of digital copies, I’m less resistant. Funny how that works. Still, I’ve tried to limit my use of iPads and tablets. I have sausage fingers so I prefer an old-school keyboard. And being in my 40’s now, I have to admit reading on a screen isn’t’ always the most comfortable experience. Its bad enough I have to stare at one for every single one of my jobs.

However, all of my children discovered tablets at an early age. I don’t even know how it happened. They’d see one at a friend’s house – maybe a Leap Pad or some other form of educational toy device. Then it became the inevitable “can I play a game on your phone?” To which you think “well if it will keep them in their seat long enough for us to eat, sure.”

Now each of my children has their own tablet. My son has an iPad, and my daughters both have Samsung tablets (with matching pink cases and their names on the back.)  They are at once the bane of my existence (the tablets, not the kids) and often times my savior as I try to get dinner made for the three of them, or change out of my work clothes (I can only handle so many hours in business casual before my head explodes.)  Quite frankly sometimes I’m just tired and want to sit down and not play baseball or lacrosse or push someone on the swing set.

So yes, call me a bad parent. I sometimes allow more tablet time than I should because it makes for a good babysitter. I know, that’s probably the thing you wouldn’t want to admit in a proper parenting blog, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one guilty of it.

I know they should be outside getting fresh air and exercise, especially now that it’s spring. If they have to be inside, they should be reading (kryptonite to my son – don’t get me started) or playing some kind of game. Something that requires them to think and be creative.

But then I remember that when I was a kid, I had a screen for a babysitter too. You see my folks split when I was 5. I was primarily raised by a big wooden floor television with the silver knobs that “clunk-clunk-clunked” when you changed the channel. The only exercise I got was walking from the couch to the TV to change it. Kids today wouldn’t believe the inhumanity.

While I’m not defending such an upbringing, it was what it was. My mom was working her butt off to raise two boys in-between the occasional support check. On her day off, you know, the day she had to do laundry and clean, she would drop my brother and me off at the movie theater with a $20. We’d stay there pretty much all day, hopping from movie to movie. Truth be told, from age 5 to 18, I spent a huge chuck of my free time staring at screens, absorbing other peoples’ creativity.

While it did not create in me an athlete (or even someone with abs) it actually did fuel the creative side of my brain. Hence, two books in the market, full-time and freelance jobs in creative fields, and I’m kickass at trivia!  

Maybe that’s why at some point last night, or maybe early this morning (I was too tired to lift my phone and look) I heard rustling in my daughters’ room which is right next to ours. I could hear the muffled but all too familiar sounds of YouTube.  Even my sleepy, two-cycled weed whacker engine of a brain figured out quickly that my older daughter, Maya, had woken up, grabbed her tablet, and was in bed watching videos and playing her dress-up games. My brain told me I should get up, go yank it out of her hands and order her back to sleep.

But I didn’t.

I could tell you because I was still half-asleep and just too exhausted to move. And that is definitely part of it. But the truth; she’s my creative one. Her brother is a jock (don’t know where he got it) and her little sister, well, we’re still not sure. Maya is my artist. She paints, she draws, and she dances. As I often say, she is all my child. I see so much of myself in her, good and bad, that it terrifies me. Yet it also created a special bond in us. As much as she is responsible for 80% of my gray hairs, she is my girl, 110%.

I know how much she loves those silly videos of people opening weird plastic eggs with toys inside, or singing “Mommy Finger”, or creating crafts. As much as I should have, I could not take it away from her. How do I know where she will go with that information one day? Sometimes you just don’t want to sleep, so why not let her download some more brain food, even if some of it is just candy?

Bath time

Our youngest, Macy, is about to turn 4 at the end of this month. She loves taking baths . . . except for the whole cleaning part.

She sits there wailing, screaming bloody murder while I simply attempt to wash her hair. I realize I'm strong but I make a point to use almost zero pressure. And I know it's not from soap running into her eyes - I'd sympathize with that familiar burn of youth. She just hates it. The very act of it. I don't know if it's due to her thin, blonde hair. Maybe she has a sensitive scalp. But she never complains of pain. Just the act.

Is this normal???

Her big sister, Maya, who inherited her follicles from me and has thick, brown, shampoo sucking locks doesn't mind it a bit. I'm the one crying because it takes so long to rinse her hair out. It holds onto the suds like there's a shortage.

The only way  I can get the little one to stop crying while I wash her hair is to agree to let them wash mine next. So once both of them are clean, and after I drain most of the dirt soup they're soaking in out of the tub, I refill it with fresh water and lean in up to my elbows, head hung over the tub.

It thrills them to no end. Oddly enough, while Macy always claims to want to follow in her mother's footsteps and be hairstylist (Maya often claims she wants to be a unicorn - that child is all mine) it is the older one who leads my beautification ritual. I get my hair washed and conditioned no less than three times. Sure, it's a waste of shampoo, but it makes them happy, and quite frankly my wife gets it at cost.

Then comes the styling, for which I'm not allowed to dry my hair first. That's all part of the package apparently. So I sit on one of their little beds while my hair is brushed back and forth, sideways, then back again. Ultimately I end up looking like a drowned rat, but sometimes I get a bow. #dadlife